Daughter and Son
by AWESOME.COOKIE
Summary: A series of one-shots centered around Lestrade's daughter and Sherlock.
1. Alice

Sherlock burst into Lestrade's office. It had been roughly 8 in the morning when Sherlock got a text from the Detective Inspector, saying to come down to Scotland Yard immediately so that he could be briefed on the latest case that Lestrade had for Sherlock. John wasn't with the Consulting Detective, as an hour before the text he had had to go to work for a surgery.

But inside the office was not a gray-haired man waiting some-what impatiently for Sherlock to arrive. Instead, sitting at Lestrade's desk, was a little girl, about 5 years old. Her hair was a dark brown and fell slightly past her shoulders (Slightly damp, recently had a bath). Blue eyes were glued on a paper in front of her as she worked at it with a crayon (left handed, crayon dull from use). Her clothes were a skirt and shirt with a small jacket (simple, but new and tidy). Next to the girl sat a bright pink backpack, almost bursting from holding so many contents (Going to be staying away from home for a while).

After a few seconds, in which Sherlock had approached the desk and placed his hands on it, making his presence known, the girl looked up.

"Hello!" The girl chirped happily.

"Where is Lestrade?" Sherlock's voice was slightly annoyed at having to wait like this, with a case so close.

"Daddy's out getting coffee. He told me I can wait here, since I'm a big girl." The way she said the words 'big girl' made it sound like it was the highest praise of all. Sherlock easily pieced together the rest of the girl's story. Most likely she lived with her mother, and this was one of the few times that she got to visit Lestrade, or 'daddy', as the parents was most definitely divorced. Her mom had dressed her up in the best clothes she had in hopes to impress the father and show they were doing fine without him. She had taken a rushed bath before coming, probably getting as clean as she could before seeing her father.

"Great, he's making me wait." Sherlock grumbled and sat down in a chair, starting to escape to his mind palace. Before he could completely accomplish this, however, the little girl spoke and broke into his thoughts.

"I'm Alice." Sherlock didn't respond. "What's your name?"

"What does it matter to you? You are at a young age that will mean little to you once you have grown, nor will you remember much from it."

"Please?"

"Adding the word does not invoke any more emphasis than any other word." Alice huffed slightly at this word, but didn't say anything for a few more moments. Feeling relieved the little girl was finally quiet, Sherlock once again started into his mind palace. He was well into it when a voice much closer than he expected it to be forced him out of it once again.

"Look what I made!" Sherlock's eyes shot open to see a crudely drawn picture centimeters from his face. It depicted a figure made out of different colored circles and lines. If you used more than a little imagination, it could look like a man with gray hair standing on grass. He was smiling, and next to him was an even worse looking figure of a girl, one arm much longer than the other so that it could reach the circle that served as the man's hand. Alice was probably looking for a compliment, but Sherlock was not amused in the slightest.

"You're art is horrific." Sherlock commented before closing his eyes once again. Alice stuck out her lower lip at this, pouting, and folded her arms.

"You must be Sherlock." At this, Sherlock's eyes open and looked at the girl, who had wandered back to Lestrade's desk and was now drawing on a new piece of paper.

"How would you know that?" In spite of himself, Sherlock was shocked that the girl knew him, or at least his name. Sure he was Lestrade's daughter, but they didn't live together.

"Whenever I talk to daddy, he _always _talks about you." Alice didn't look up as she put away a grey crayon and took out a cobalt blue. "He talks about how you think you're smarterer than _everyone, _and how you get on _lots _of lastest nerves. Sometimes when he talks to me on phone, daddy goes on and on about how he _hates _it when you get in trouble on purpose, or you don't eats for days." She now replaced the blue and took out a black. She touched it to the paper, but didn't bring it across the paper, instead looking up, her face showing a little bit of confusion and a whole lot of curiosity.

"What?" Sherlock snapped as Alice's gaze intensified.

"Aren't you gonna' say something mean?" Her young, blue eyes met his own intense gaze, unwavering. When you're that young, you don't know fear, and this child didn't have a speck of that emotion yet.

"You have interested me. You may continue if you wish." Alice smirked as best a 5 year old can as she heard the nearly nonexistent plea in Sherlock's voice. Sherlock, in spite of himself, was enjoying this peek into Lestrade's life and what he said about him.

"Usually once he's done ranting, he talks about another kid. He calls the guy his son, which I guess would make him my brother, but I've never seen him. He never even says his name. But he does say that he met the kid before I was even _born. _The guy was really, really sick, and daddy helped him get better. He stills sees the guy, but he's not the same boy that he used to know. Daddy says the change is good though, so I guess my brother is good." Alice smoothed the paper as she finished what she was working on. She held it in front of her, lips pursed as they looked over the paper at Sherlock and then back to the paper.

"Daddy had told me what he looks like though. Daddy says my brother is really tall and has curly, black hair. His eyes are somewhere between blue and green and he's really skinny and really pale." The pursed lips curved into a smile now. "And I'm happy I finally met him." Getting off the chair, she walked over to him and handed the paper to Sherlock, who took it in his hands and brought it to his face, looking at it in interest.

On the paper was a man who was so tall that his head was at the top of the page and his feet were touching the bottom. The man's limbs were made out of lines, making him inhumanly skinny. His hands and feet were simple circles, filled in quickly and with the white paper showing through in many spots. His head was a longer oval; on the top was a mass of black curls. The man's eyes were green, with blue scribbled on top of them. His mouth was a straight line. A long overcoat was drawn on his thin form, along with a blue scarf.

Before Sherlock could say anything, the door to the office opened and in walked Lestrade, a cup of coffee in his hand. Sherlock quickly folded the paper and stuck it into one of his pockets. Lestrade didn't seem to notice him for a few seconds, scooping up Alice and pulling her into a hug and kissing her all over her face while Alice let out happy, high-pitched giggles. Putting the girl down on top of his desk, the Detective Inspector turned and faced Sherlock, grabbing a file from his desk and handing it to Sherlock.

"Sorry to keep you waiting Sherlock. I didn't expect you to be here so quickly. Now then, many believe that this was a suicide, but there have been several, extremely similar 'suicides' in the space of 4 days…" Lestrade trailed on about the case, and soon Sherlock was swept up into it, Alice momentarily leaving his mind.

* * *

Later that night, as Sherlock was making himself some tea (John was still at the hospital), he reached into his pocket and felt something. Pulling it out, Sherlock immediately recognized the picture that Alice had drawn of him. A rare, small smile graced the Consulting Detective's mouth as he walked over to the fridge and, taking 2 magnets, set his 'little sister's' picture on it.

When John came home late that evening and asked about it, Sherlock would claim that he had no idea where it came from.


	2. Gun Shots

Pain.

That was all that Sherlock could make out clearly.

He had been running after the murderer (or suspect, as Lestrade would say, though Sherlock _knew _this man was the one they were looking for). They had turned a corner when the man had pulled a knife on Sherlock. Sherlock had managed to knock the man out, but the knife had wedged itself into his stomach. Now, it was all Sherlock could do not writhe around and make it worse.

His face was scrunched up against the pain and eyes were closed tightly. He was dully aware that the sound of a group of feet was approaching him. Sherlock could make out muffled yells, but didn't respond to them. Hands touched him and gently smoothed out his body so that it was lying straight on the ground.

"Sally, call an ambulance! Sherlock's been stabbed!" A familiar voice caught Sherlock's attention, though he couldn't place who it was. Snapping his eyes open for a second, he was able to see a blur of gray hair before they closed again from the pain.

"Dad…!" Sherlock managed to rasp out.

"Wha- Sherlock, it's me, Lestrade!"

"Dad!" Sherlock tried again, his brain not understanding what the man above him was saying. "No… hospital!"

"What do you mean no hospital?!"

"He's got a thing against hospitals, I don't really get either. There's no way he's going to let us get him as far as the ambulance!" John's voice made its way to Sherlock, who now felt as if there was a thick layer of cloth between him and the voices, making it hard to hear them.

"Okay, okay. Gosh, what am I supposed to do then?" Some fabric covered Sherlock quickly followed by the sensation of being lifted in somebody's arms. "John, with me. We're bringing Sherlock to my place. You'd better be able to patch him up."

The world then faded to black.

* * *

When Sherlock came to, there was a hand gently running through his hair. His stomach felt horrid, pulsing with a strong pain, but when he ruled that out, he was quite comfortable. A blanket lay on top of him, keeping him nicely warm. The whole room around him smelled strange, like most houses do when you first enter them. And yet, there was something familiar about the smell.

Putting that to the back of his head, Sherlock turned his thoughts to the hand running through his hair. The fingers just brushed his scalp as they went, and the action seemed to be almost subconscious to the person. Sherlock immediately knew who the person must be, if he was remembering what happened in the ally correctly, but before he could correct his tongue, the word came out.

"Dad?" Sherlock mentally cursed himself for the word as the fingers stopped.

"No, sorry if you were expecting someone else. It's just be Lestrade." Sherlock opened his eyes and started to get up when a firm hand pushed him back down and Lestrade's face came into view.

"John said you should try and move as little as possible. He was upset that you wouldn't go to the hospital, and frankly I am too, but he was able to patch you up, though you owe me a new couch. You soaked this one in blood." Lestrade was sitting in a chair right next to the coach that Sherlock was occupying.

"Can I at least sit up?" Sherlock asked, but didn't wait for an answer, pushing himself into a sitting position, hissing under his breath as a new wave of pain hit him.

"Like I could stop you." Lestrade snorted as he watched Sherlock. Before another thing could be said between the two, however, there was a knock at the door, which was in the same room. Getting up, Lestrade walked over and opened it.

Standing in the doorway was a little girl, roughly 6 years old, was looking up at Lestrade. Her blue eyes showed only a hint of fear, though it wasn't toward Lestrade. The fear was coming from somewhere else (something at home perhaps). The girl's brown hair fell down to the middle of her back (covering one eyes, hides behind it). She wore jeans, sneakers, a black shirt, and a thin jacket (hurriedly put on). A nearly-bursting backpack sat on her shoulders (plans to stay here a while). Her breaths were slightly labored, but not horridly (Was walking long distances).

"Alice, what are you doing here?!" Lestrade picked up his daughter and brought her completely into the room, shutting the door with his foot.

"Mommy was acting weird and being a butt, so I came here." Alice answered as she climbed up Lestrade's arm and onto his shoulders.

"That's a 2 mile walk! Are you okay? Do you need anything? Never mind, I'm going to call your mom and see what excuse she has." Lestrade grabbed Alice and placed her on the ground before stalking out of the room. With each step, the air of anger around him grew darker. Once he was out of the room, Sherlock turned to Alice.

"Your mother was drunk, wasn't she?" Alice just shrugged and walked over to the couch, climbing up and pulling her knees into her.

"If you mean she was drinking a really weird smelling drink and was acting less and less like herself the more she drank, than I guess she was drunk." There was that fear in her eyes again. "How did you know?"

"The faint smell of alcohol hangs around you. You were sacred of something, obviously at home or else you wouldn't have felt the need to walk all the way from your mother's to your father's. Even Lestrade has probably seen this, it doesn't exactly take a mind like mine to figure it out."

"M-mommy just kept getting louder and louder, talking about her boyfriend and how he broke up with her. At one point sh-she…" Alice was crying now, the emotion completely engulfing her. "She started to hit me, and I don't know why. A-after a wh-while, she f-fainted and I t-took the chance to l-leave." Alice squeezed her eyes shut and curled into herself even more. And then a piece of fabric touched her face and wiped away the tears. Opening her eyes back up, She saw Sherlock had been the one to do so.

"Emotions are horrid, aren't they? I don't let them get to me, especially sadness and fear. Pesky and useless in my opinion. My own sister shouldn't let them get to her so easily." Still sniffling, Alice rubbed her eyes, trying to get control of herself. After a few minutes, she felt that she could talk without stuttering.

"Why are you here?"

"A murderer stabbed me in the stomach." Sherlock answered bluntly, which was greeted by a gasp from Alice.

"Shouldn't you be in the hospital?" Sherlock smirked.

"Let's just say that there are some things there that I would like to avoid there." Alice climbed across the couch to Sherlock and began to poke him. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to find where you got stabbed." Sherlock made a sound somewhere between a yelp and a groan as Alice's small finger found the wound that had been stitched up not long ago. A small smile graced her face. "Found it."

"Don't do that." Sherlock pushed her away, feeling vaguely tired. His transport was starting to run out of energy to stay awake as it focused the majority on healing his wound.

"Tell me a story!" Alice jumped slightly on the couch, eyes wide with delight, not a trace of fear or sadness in sight.

"Why would I do that?"

"I told you one last time we met, so now it's your turn!" When Sherlock still didn't look convinced, Alice pressed on. "And I promise to be quiet while you tell it. I pink swear!" Alice held out her pinky, but Sherlock didn't take it in his.

"Okay, fine, if you'll be quiet. Let's see… I'm not doing any of those fairy tales, those are too dull… oh, I know!" Sherlock's face lit up a bit. "This is the story is called Sherlock and the Great Game."

* * *

Lestrade sighed as he put down the phone. It had taken a long time, longer than he would have wanted, to convince his ex-wife to allow him to keep Alice for a day or two. It didn't help that she was drunk and wouldn't cooperate, or one minute she'd be fine with the idea and the next she was throwing a tantrum at such a prospect. But there was no way he would let his daughter go back there, at least not until Alice was feeling better.

"Hey Alice, I finished talking to your mom. You're going to be staying with me for-" Lestrade stopped as he walked into the living room. There on the couch was Alice and Sherlock. Alice's head had dropped onto Sherlock's lap, while Sherlock's had flopped backwards onto the back of the couch.

The grin on Lestrade's face threatened to overwhelm it completely. Grabbing another blanket, Lestrade covered Alice as well. He gently kissed Alice on her forehead and patted Sherlock's head. His two kids.


	3. The Story of a Brother

"Daddy!" A 4-year old Alice ran over to her dad, who wrapped his arms around her and lifted her into the air as giggles came from the little girl. She loved her dad, though for the last few days she hadn't seen him a whole lot. For some reason or other, he hadn't been in the house lately.

"My little angel!" Something sounded wrong about his voice, something sad, and the sound was reflected in his eyes.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" Alice asked as she snuggled closer to him. Her dad didn't say a word as he carried her into the house that he had been standing outside of. They settled down on a couch, where Alice's dad released her from his grasp, allowing her to sit on his knee.

"Alice, you're not going to see me a lot any more. You see, me and your mom, we're… separating. You'll be living with mommy, and I'll be living here. You'll get to visit me every-" Her dad's voice sounded like he was choking for a second before he gained control of it. "Every so often. Today will be the last time you get to see me for while." A tear slid down the man's face.

Alice reached her little hand up and brushed the tear away.

"Tell me about your work daddy." Daddy always got lost in thought when he talked about work. Maybe it would make him not think about what was making him sad. Alice couldn't see why he was sad. Every so often wasn't that long, right?

"Well, today we closed another case. We couldn't have done it without Sherlock though." His voice was still a bit shaky, but not nearly as bad as it had been.

"Who's Sherlock?" Alice cocked her head to the side in confusion. She had heard her dad talk about Donovan, and Anderson, and sometimes even a guy named Dimmock, but never a Sherlock. Well, that was a lie. She _had _heard him mention him before. But mommy had shushed him, saying that she didn't want him to talk about 'that man' around me.

"An idiot and a genius, not to mention the most insufferable man I've ever met. He doesn't listen to what other people tell him and seems to go out of his way to upset those around him. 'Course, that also just how he is. He doesn't think and dives head 1st into danger. Not to mention the man hardly eats. One of these days he's going to starve himself to death. Luckily Sherlock's got himself a new flat mate who looks like he's bringing out the best in him." Alice's father got quiet for a few seconds after that.

"Did I ever tell you about my son? Well, he's not technically my son, but I felt like he was one." Alice shook her head.

"Does that make him my older brother? Or is he my baby brother?"

"I don't know what he would be to you, but I guess so. He would be your older brother by years. Anyway, when I met the kid, he was passed out next to my car. The rain was just pouring down that night while I was heading home from work. The kid was hi… really, really sick."

"Like I was a few months with my cold?" Alice had felt horrible and had had to stay home for preschool.

"No, not like that. The kid had made he sick on purpose. It's really complicated, I'll tell you about it someday. I took him to my house, your mother was on a short trip at the time, and put him on my couch. He was wearing an old overcoat and his hair was extremely dirty. I'm fairly certain he was living on the streets at the time, but he never told me. He stayed unconscious, or, um, asleep, for the next few hours. It wasn't until the morning that he woke up.

"I had left one of my cases on the table next to the couch, and by the time I woke up, he had it all solved. Your brother was brilliant, even when he was… sick. He also really enjoyed solving cases. But I couldn't let him onto my cases with him being as sick as he was. He made a deal with me that if he got better, I would let him work with me. And in the end he did. I helped him get through the worst of the sickness though. That's about the time I began to felt like he was my son." Her dad's face got a far off look in them.

"It takes seeing someone when they're at the lowest, most vulnerable state to really get to them and see who they are." Most of the meaning in this went straight though one of Alice's ears and out the other, but she was just glad that her dad was no longer sad.

"What does he look like? What's his name?" Alice bounced slightly in excitement. She had always wanted a sibling.

"Well, he's extremely tall, and very skinny. His hair is black with a lot of curls on top. He's extremely pale, and if I didn't know better I might have thought he was pretending to be a vampire when I met him. His eyes are really strange, though. Sometimes, they look gray, but other times they're a strange mix of blue and green." A small playful smile played at her daddy's mouth. "As for his name, maybe one day you'll meet him and get to ask him that yourself."

* * *

Alice swung her feet from her perch at her father's desk. For her 5th birthday, she was visiting her dad. She had gotten here not too long ago, and didn't quite understand why her mom had wanted her to be at her best behavior and in her best clothes. She was just going to see daddy after all.

Right at that moment, her dad had gone out to get some coffee. He had told her to stay in the office until he got back, and she was doing just that as she busily drew a picture of him and her. She was so deep into her art that she hardly noticed when the door burst open. What part of Alice did realize that someone was approaching the desk just thought that her dad was back.

Hands slammed down of the desk, and finally she looked up into to see not her dad, but a man that looked like he had walked straight out of Alice's dreams. The man matched her dad's description of her brother to a T. She was finally meeting him, she could finally know his name!

"Hello!"


	4. Mycroft and Ice-Cream

"Alice, don't go too far!" Alice's mother yelled to her daughter while Alice ran through the park merrily.

"I won't!" She promised, though it was more of a subconscious answer that came with no real promise. And anyway, at the end of the day, all that had happened hadn't been because she had strayed too far from the park. Really, it was all the umbrella man's fault, as Alice would tell her mom later.

Alice had been climbing on the money bars when she met said man.

He was wearing a clean suit, which seemed very out of place in a playground. His hair was nicely smoothed back. His face was one of utter boredom, and his hands rested on a black umbrella, thus the reason for the name umbrella man.

"Hello, may I have a word or two with you?" the umbrella man asked. Immediately Alice let go of the monkey bars and fell to the ground, wincing ever so slightly on impact. She then straightened and put her hands behind her back like she had seen Sherlock do whenever he was trying to be intimidating.

"My mommy said not to talk to strangers." Alice stated matter-of-factly.

"And a very smart person your mother is." He put out his hand. "My name is Mycroft. It's nice to meet you Alice." Alice looked at Mycroft suspiciously. She didn't tell him her name. She still shook his hand in the end though. "Now were not strangers."

The name Mycroft sounded somewhat familiar, and after racking her mind for a few minutes, Alice finally came up with where she'd heard it before. Alice's mouth opened in an 'O' shape before she put her hands back behind her and straightened a bit.

"My daddy and brother told me not to talk to Mycroft." Mycroft looked a bit disgruntled now, and Alice smirked a bit at this.

"If I took you to get ice-cream, would you allow me to question you?" Ice-cream did sound really good. After all, it was the middle of summer and Alice was hot and sweaty and just a little ice-cream couldn't hurt. No, don't cave Alice, stay strong for your brother and your dad. "You may have as many toppings and flavors as you want."

Listening to your dad was over-rated.

Which was how Alice ended up sitting at a table outside of an ice-cream parlor, happily eating out of a bowl a mixture of chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, mint, and cotton candy ice-cream topped off with oreos, chocolate chips, gummy bears, cookie-dough, marshmallows, and something that she really didn't recognize but got anyway.

They sat in silence for a moment as Alice happily shoved more of the sugar covered sugar in her mouth while Mycroft watched her, hands clasped in front of him and umbrella leaning against his chair. Every so often, Alice could swear that his eyes looked longingly at her treat before returning to watching her.

"My dad's a detective."

"Yes, I know."

"If this is you kidnapping me, my daddy will kill you." This seemed to just amuse Mycroft.

"That would be highly ambitious of him."

"What does am-bi-tious mean?"

"To strive towards a goal that is incredibly hard to reach." Alice just blinked at him. "Never mind, as far as goldfish go you're one of the dullest I've come across."

"I had a goldfish once! I named him Bob, but then I found out he was a girl and so he was really Bobette. And then I ate him!"

"How charming." Alice gave him a wide grin, revealing her missing front tooth. "Hey, weren't you gonna' ask me questions?"

"Oh, yes, best to get it done with now and be finished with you quickly. What is your relationship to Sherlock Holmes?"

"Hm? Sherlock? Do you know him?" Alice was suddenly exited, hands on the table and leaning heavily on it, looking at Mycroft joyfully. "I haven't seen him in _ages! _Or was it yesterday? Well that's still not soon enough! My mommy doesn't like him, so I only get to see him when I'm at daddy's house. I really wish I could see him more. 'specially since he's my brother." Alice caught the strange look he was now giving her. "What?"

"Why do you call him your brother?"

"Why wouldn't I?" She countered. She was no long on the table, but leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed.

"He is not your real brother. You do know this I hope."

"He is too. Maybe not like from the same mommy and daddy, but he's close enough. And if my daddy says he is, than he is. And you can't change that." She pursued her lips and was now glaring at him, nose flaring. "I'd like to watch you try to."

"I have no desire to stop you being… siblings with my brother. I was simply interested in who you were, as I have caught you with him several times before."

"Wait, hold it. You're Sherlock's brother?!" After Mycroft gave a nod of affirmation, Alice pushed her ice-cream to the side (it was starting to melt now) and got up onto the table. She walked across it to Mycroft, looking him up and down as critically as a 7 year old can manage before hugging him around his neck. After a second of shock, Mycroft promptly tried to push her away, but she stubbornly hung on.

"What. Are you doing."

"You're my brother too now. And you're grumpy. It must be because you weren't hugged enough when you were my age. At least, that's what my daddy would say. So I'm trying to make up for that." This time Mycroft was able to sucessufully push the girl off, who rocked off balance for a second before landing on the table. She then rocked her feet back and forth, watching him expectantly.

"Hm, you don't seem too different. Maybe I'll try again later." Before Mycroft could say anything on the matter, Alice looked up, head facing the park.

"ALICE!" The voice of her mother was able to raise above the din of the world just enough for it to be audible.

"Sorry. I guess I have to go." Alice grabbed her ice-cream and started to walk away before pausing and rushing back, pushing the rest of the ¾ of her ice-cream into Mycroft's hands. "Here, you need this more than me."

She then rushed back across the road, a car swerving to avoid her. Mycroft watched her go, slightly confused. He was never really good with emotions. Slowly, he grabbed the spoon form the bowl and wiped it off on a napkin before shoving it back in the ice-cream and put it in his mouth.

"Um, aren't you on a diet?" Mycroft had no idea when Anthea had gotten there, but then again she was never very far away.

"…"

"Can I have some?"

"… sure."


End file.
